


Blood Mud

by songquake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songquake/pseuds/songquake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How a double agent and the scion of the Dark (or at least of a "Dark" family) found comfort and perhaps even love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 Snaco Exchange on LiveJournal.
> 
> A note on the Latin: I assumed that the incantation used originally to create the Blood Mud would be different from the incantation to activate its effects later, so the Latin is different in different places. You should be able to see the translations by hovering over the Latin text.

_Father looks weary,_ Draco thought as he approached Lucius and Narcissa in the Great Hall, _but Mum looks alive for the first time in at least a year._

Draco could feel his own face mirroring Narcissa's. And Father's weariness was, he thought, a welcome change from the nearly-vacant stoicism he'd sported since leaving Azkaban.

Malfoys did not wear terror well.

He leant into his mother's arms as she seized him, clutching at his robes before running her hands down his arms and raking her hands through his hair. Draco relished the feel of her hands, though he wouldn't say it; the physicality of them confirmed that yes, she was alive. And since the sensation confirmed what his eyes had seen of her, he could also trust them when it came to Lucius. He sighed deeply, inhaling his mum's perfume underneath the smoke and ozone stench of Dark Magic. His family was safe.

Most of his family, at least.

"Where's Severus?" Draco asked as soon as he'd withdrawn from his mother's initial embrace.

Father winced. "The last I heard, the Dark Lord had asked to meet with him privately. That was during the so-called ceasefire. I haven't seen him since."

"Mother?" Draco looked to her pleadingly, despite the weakness it demonstrated. Fuck it _all_ if he couldn't be vulnerable before his mum. He waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. _Fuck fuck fuck,_ he thought. _You were in the thick of things. Don't pretend you have no idea what happened to Severus._ "Mother?" he repeated, louder.

Narcissa turned her head aside. "Thank goodness you are all right," she said, embracing her son once more.

The change of subject was so brazen that Draco rolled his eyes even as he shivered with dread. Odd that his sense of humour could operate despite the stone in his stomach. He took a steadying breath, starting with an exhale so he could avoid shuddering visibly while he took it in.

Time to continue the charade, if there were no real information. "As are you, Mother. Thank goodness," Draco said. Narcissa nodded.

"We're all safe," she said in an oddly clear tone.

"Except for Severus," Draco said. "And – and Crabbe." The stutter was unlikely, but so was the experience of watching one's oldest friend burnt by Fiendfyre.

"We've lost many, Draco," Lucius said lowly, as though it were a sin to say it aloud, as though acknowledging the losses would prove as dangerous as speaking the Dark Lord's name.

Draco sniffed but didn't respond; of course he knew that. He'd just seen his aunt slaughtered by the Weasley mother hen, after all.

 _And good riddance_ , he thought, shuddering at his memories of Aunt Bella. _She was already turning against me._ Even more than allowing her cronies, the other minions of the Dark Lord, to treat him however they wished, Draco had feared the time when Bellatrix Lestrange would decide to begin torturing him directly, torturing her nephew _for fun_. What was it she called what she did with their prisoners?

Ah, yes. _Scrimshaw._ She loved carving images and words into people as if they were wood, even though (as far as Draco knew), the basic practice was a Muggle art.

Not that Aunt Bella had been sane enough to care for consistency.

The vision of Weasley-hen cutting down his aunt was nearly enough to distract Draco from the stench of roast Crabbe still burning in his nostrils.

Nearly, but not quite. That was an experience he expected would haunt him a good while.

Draco forced himself back to the present so he could look at his mother. Unbelievably, she appeared calm, neither numb nor sad. She had an almost eerie confidence to her.

 _Of course she's up to something._ Very few ever gave Narcissa enough credit, a circumstance that of course aided his mother's craftiness.

"I'm going to find him," Draco answered. His parents nodded absently; they continued to survey the Great Hall, most likely tallying up who had been killed, injured. Who had survived.

 _Better that than they question why I'm going,_ Draco supposed. He was sure they would be horrified to learn he'd submitted to a blood-bond with a half-blood, no matter the half-blood's prestige.

***

 _They'd run for what had seemed like hours through the Forbidden Forest, losing Death Eaters as they went. Draco'd had no idea Professor Snape was so fit, able to run so fast._

 _Then again, that_ Draco _could keep running was likewise a surprise. It must have been the terror and adrenaline that kept him moving through the stitch in his side._

 _Severus' pace was slowing, though._ Old man must be tired, _Draco thought as he matched his godfather-née-professor's pace._ Wish we could keep it up, though. I feel like I've got enough momentum to go forever. __

 _He realised Severus was no longer beside him and stopped short, his breath heaving as its rhythm was interrupted. As he turned his body around, he saw Severus standing still, stance relaxed despite his heavy breathing, several yards behind._

 _"I was wondering", Severus said slowly, deliberately, "how long it would take for you to notice I'd stopped."_

 __Always snarky, that one. _Draco jogged back, not deigning to answer that comment. Instead he asked, "Are we stopping here then, sir?"_

 _"For the moment, yes," Severus said, casting his eyes about the wood. They'd not been running on a path of any sort, though the route they'd taken to get where they were was clear: trampled ground cover and snapped shrubbery branches would make it easy to track how the two men had torn through the understory. "We will need to Apparate somewhere safer, Draco."_

 _"The Manor?" Draco said, already knowing that his childhood home would be one of the least safe venues for them to hide — if hiding were the best course of action, of course. "No, not there. Where else?"_

 _Severus grunted. "Another wood, or perhaps a cave. And only for so long as it takes to internalise our cover story. But first we must make sure we can track one another."_

 _Draco pulled out his wand. "Standard Trace, then?"_

 _"No. We will need something stronger and more subtle. There is a potion that will allow us not only to find one another, but to know whether it is safe to approach. We cannot", Severus drawled derisively, "afford to bumble around like sodding Gryffindors at this juncture." Each man raised a sardonic eyebrow; they had spent enough time together over the past years that Draco had unconsciously acquired some of Severus' mannerisms. "It is crude, but effective," he continued, before pausing to pull a dagger from beneath his cloak. "Your arm, Draco. The one that is not marked."_

***

From the Great Hall, Draco had gone to the broom shed. Though a total shambles (the Quidditch pitch had been in the path the Giants had taken from forest to castle), the shed had managed to protect a few of the lesser-quality broomsticks.

The dear ones had been hung closer to the roof. Their splinters caught the early-morning sunlight as Draco evaluated a Cleansweep Six for airworthiness.

Finding it in need of minimal repair, Draco took the broom. Before heading out the door, he took one more look around the broom shed. _There_. On a tiny cupboard, a door swung on its hinges. Draco reached past it to grab the parcel inside. He shrunk it and stuck it into the pocket of his trousers.

 _Thank Merlin Madam Hooch always kept the First Aid kit stocked_ , Draco thought, though he was surprised it was still intact, Quidditch having been cancelled for the year.

Back out on the pitch, Draco scraped up a bit of dirt with his bare hands. He then used one hand to squeeze blood from a wound on the opposite arm, a wound that already had been mending itself.

He had grabbed the wand off a fallen Death Eater, and almost absently pointed it at the wound. " _Episkey_!"

Draco mixed the dirt and blood into a paste. _A crude potion, indeed,_ he thought sardonically.

Wiping the mud made with his own blood across his forehead and onto his eyelids, Draco chanted, " _Duce cruor sui cruo_ ", in the dirge-like tune Severus had taught him that first night on the run.

***

 _"Your parents have deemed it prudent for you to learn basic survival skills." Severus glared as Pansy Parkinson took a breath to speak, cutting her off. "_ Battlefield _survival, Miss Parkinson, though no doubt we will also need to review some of the skills you'll need should you find yourself without house-elf."_

 _Like the rest of the 'rising generation', as their parents liked to say, Draco had been dispatched to Hogwarts two weeks before classes resumed for some 'extracurricular instruction'._

 _Several of his classmates had complained loudly about being required to cut short their holidays – mostly the children of families who were ostensibly neutral, like the Greengrass girls and that git McLaggen, who was supposed to have left Hogwarts, anyway._

 _Those whose families were working for The Cause, on the other hand, were glad for the respite. Draco was, especially: he'd always held that Burbage woman in high contempt, but the way the Dark Lord had disposed of her..._

 _Draco doubted he'd be able to hear the word 'dinner' without a sudden wave of nausea for quite a long time._

 _Out on the Quidditch pitch that August morning, waiting for the haze to burn off, Draco turned his attention to the lesson Snape was imparting – one Draco was glad to repeat now that they were no longer on the run. Now that he could keep still enough to notice the dew soaking through his shoes before it had the chance to rise from the grass on the pitch._

 _"You're not serious," Nott's voice broke through Draco's reverie. "You can't mean to teach us_ Muggle _remedies."_

 _"Cardiopulmonary resuscitation is, of course, more effective when administered through magic. But magic can fail. Not to mention that, for as many of you as possible to survive," Severus said coldly, "you must learn how to get by should you be separated from your wand." He paused, raising an eyebrow in Draco's direction. Draco sneered, keeping up his own cool facade. It was no secret that the Dark Lord had 'liberated' Lucius' wand from him; that it was their leader who rendered the elder Malfoy wandless_ would _be the point Severus chose to emphasise._

 _Draco took note of which classmates regarded him with sympathy, which with pity, and which with contempt. The ones who_ didn't _look were the ones he could still influence, if he still cared to influence anybody._

 _Living with the Dark Lord had certainly made his own power games recognisable as the juvenile diversions they were._

 _"Never assume_ anyone _to be on your side, Draco," he had said in the woods. "As any halfway-sentient Slytherin should know, the only one you can truly trust is yourself."_

 _Now he was teaching the same, but more subtly._ Never able to directly confront all the skulduggery, eh, Severus? _Draco thought with grim amusement._

 _"The purpose of both Magical and Muggle cardiopulmonary resuscitation is to re-start the rhythm of the heart while also returning oxygen to the body and especially the brain. It is_ the _Muggle method of restoring life." Severus paused dramatically, as he had when welcoming First Year Potions students to class. "It is also the only method with any reasonable chance of counteracting_ Avada Kedavra _."_

***

Flying with one's eyes closed was generally considered a poor practice. Draco would certainly recommend against it under most circumstances. Yet the bloody mud, now dried enough to seal shut his eyes, required that one trust _its_ directions, _its_ map to the blood-bonded. _The Beloved_ , Draco felt flitting through his mind as his mind's eye adjusted to the potion's depiction of the Hogwarts grounds.

He kicked off.

He hadn't done this before. Severus said that a trail for him to follow would rise from the patch of dirt he'd disturbed to make the mud, and that each person's trail was customised to be easy to follow. Laughter bubbled up in Draco's chest as a Golden Snitch popped out of the dirt.

 _Well, I always was good at chasing these. It's just that Potter was better._

Truly, though, he was relieved that this had worked. The Blood Mud (Draco never had learned the proper name of the potion; he was too exhausted when Severus first made it to pay attention to something so trivial as a _name_ , and besides, he liked the bit of subversive he felt when thinking of it by such a common, ironic name) had largely been intended to help Severus find him, rather than the other way around. Severus had been rather concerned whilst running round the woods that they might be separated...or that Draco might wander off if left to his own devices.

The Snitch before his eyelids wasn't very good for playing. It followed a relatively straight path – if one followed the trajectory rather than the corkscrew path it took on its way. Draco, unfortunately, hadn't realised that watching generally would be wiser than tailing 'til he was already beginning to get dizzy.

Knowing that the route would remain visible gave Draco the freedom to glance around and get his bearings. He was chasing a Snitch toward Hogsmeade, oddly enough. He had assumed that Severus would have been sent somewhere along the Forbidden Forest's tree line, to serve once more as the Dark Lord's entree into Hogwarts. Perhaps, seeing the explosions through the castle's windows, he'd decided to run again. Or perhaps the Dark Lord had sequestered his most trusted lieutenant, in the case that he was, himself, wounded and someone was needed to execute the final battle.

Or perhaps Severus had finally drawn his Lord's ire and was dead. He'd mentioned that the Blood Mud would cause the wearer to be led to the nearest place holding more than an ounce of the Beloved's blood.

The Snitch slowed and began to circle a lonely building.

When Draco finally touched down, he muttered, "You have _got_ to be joking."

Before him stood the Shrieking Shack.

Shaking off the memory of telling Severus about Potter's head popping out of nowhere while he was visiting, Draco patted his pocket to verify the presence of the First Aid packet. _Still there. Good._ He then wandered round the perimeter of the small house, searching for the door.

"Bloody hell," he said as he reached the spot where he'd landed. "How's a man supposed to get in here?" Looking up, Draco saw drapery fluttering through an open window. "Bugger it," he said, and took up his broom again.

 _Odd to see the window wide open_ , Draco mused as he hovered just outside, grabbing the window's frame and clambering through.

The reek stopped him. Slowly, he scanned the room.

Lying in a pool of the blood conspicuously leaking from his neck was Severus Snape.

" _Fuck,_ " Draco breathed, once his heart and lungs gave up their attempt not to function. Nodding to himself, he approached his fallen mentor. Lover.

***

 _"You want me to do what?" Draco said, the formality between himself and his professor long worn off._

 _Severus glared at him from his supine position in the dirt and let out an exasperated sigh. "You expressed interest in learning the basics of survival Mediwizardy, did you not?"_

 _"Yes." Draco was still staring at Severus' naked chest, shocked to see ribs, even more shocked at the smattering of hair down its centre. It felt rather more intimate than even bathing in the stream together had._

 _"If, for some reason, you have the opportunity to re-start a fallen comrade's heart, I want you to know how to do it." Draco nodded. "Now, recite once more what you must do _before_ beginning to tend to your very recently late comrade." _

Draco took a breath, closing his eyes to gather himself. "Check to make sure you are out of sight and safe," he said as he opened them. "Then cast a Shield Charm around the perimeter of your area to keep you so whilst attending to your comrade." He paused. "Probably a Disillusionment Spell, too, so they can't see you."

"Certainly not," Severus scoffed from the ground. Amazing how he could be simultaneously so vulnerable and so commanding. "Do you think you can conduct cardiopulmonary resuscitation blind _?"_

 _"No, sir," Draco said, chastened._

 _"Cast a Privacy Charm instead."_

 _"Right. Cast a Privacy Charm, then make sure that the comrade in question is laid out flat on his back, no rocks underneath. If you've got a cloak, he should be on it."_

 _"Or she."_

 _"He or she," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Cast a cleansing charm on one's hands. Then you may begin to administer aid." He had been paying such close attention at their first few lessons (and had been made to recite these preparatory instructions at the beginning of each) that he could mark Severus' words exactly, down to his sardonic drawl._

 _In any event, Severus had laid his own cloak down before taking his spot on the ground, so Draco merely needed to cast spells this time. He would have to ask Severus to go over which spells or movements were safe for moving one's comrade if necessary; Draco Malfoy knew better than to interrupt Professor Snape mid-lesson._

 _"Now that you've condescended to prepare the site and yourself for the aid," Severus said dryly, "and we assume that your comrade has managed to survive the delay, make a fist of your non-dominant hand and place your wand-hand over it. You will be using your wand arm to press the fist into your comrade's chest, pulsing the heart for him. Between sets of compressions, you will put your mouth to his and breathe fresh air into his lungs."_

 _Draco's mouth opened a little, suddenly dry. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation was_ intimate _. He licked his lips._

 _"Teenagers," Severus muttered with a roll of his eyes. "When you have coped with the idea that your mouth will be pressed to_ mine _, Draco, begin to administer compressions at a ratio of thirty compressions to two breaths. I assume you are familiar with the song, 'Another One Bites the Dust'? Even Muggles admit that this song best replicates a heartbeat of 110 beats per minute...."_

***

Severus' breath was shallow, his heartbeat both slow and faint. Draco could tell by counting at the wrist – or by tracking the sluggish rhythm of blood pulsing out Severus' neck.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Draco thought, casting quick cleansing charms on his eyes, his hands, and, tearing off a long scrap of his robe, on it as well.

 _Bind a tourniquet onto any arterial wound_ was what had been taught, but that seemed a singularly idiotic idea in this situation. Draco began to mop up the blood at the wound and apply pressure. With his other hand he Summoned an antiseptic potion from the First Aid kit; he'd also been taught that one _must_ disinfect before closing a wound.

"This should sting." Draco wasn't sure why he was talking to a near-corpse; it just seemed proper. He sponged the liquid onto Severus' neck, noticing the blood had slowed to barely an ooze. _Fuck. How did that healing chant he taught me – that he fucking_ saved _me with – go?_

Switching the antiseptic solution with Essence of Dittany, Draco took a shuddering breath and began to sing. He watched sinew and skin slowly knit.

When satisfied that further care wouldn't imperil Severus, Draco leant down, unable to resist softly kissing the pale, papery lips as he checked his lover's respiration.

Nothing for it. Draco ripped open Severus' robe and shirt, took a breath deep enough for the both of them, and began CPR.


	2. Part II

Pain. He remembered pain, Potter, and that putrid Python. He remembered his terror when he realised the Dark Lord's intentions; he remembered giving up his few beautiful memories, all of Lily, with relief that young Potter would receive them.

The physical pain was the strongest memory, however.

Yet.... Yes, it was a memory. Severus tried to swallow.

 _Well, idiot, it_ was _a memory_.

His sardonic wit, at least, was still intact.

Next Severus tried to raise a hand to his throat. Said hand seemed to have been replaced with a sack of lead balls. It wasn't going anywhere, not even the yard or so to his neck.

He was still, thankfully, capable of nasal inhalation, which required minimal motor control. The air he took in...smelled neither of Poppy's mild perfume nor of the herbs that populated the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. No, all he could smell was his own stale sweat invading an otherwise odourless room.

St Mungo's penchant for those infernal Irradiation Charms, though meant to reassure patients of the sterility of their environment, had always seemed more sinister to him.

Knowing he was, at least, secure from attack, Severus cracked open his eyes.

Even the low light seemed harsh. _Bugger,_ he thought. _I've been stuck in Terminal Isolation, haven't I?_ He snuffled in amusement. Terminal Isolation was where the Healing Staff stored those patients who had little chance of waking, but whose illness or injury was deemed detrimental for other patients to see. These were patients who might be left to die, if not for the intervention of someone who insisted they might live – usually a family member ( _As if anyone actually did care for my own welfare_ , he thought bitterly). It wasn't, technically, _isolation_ , as _all_ such patients were in the same open ward, but it meant that the staff neither expected him to wake nor was monitoring him for signs of change in consciousness.

It would give him a few more moments to gather himself, at least. Hours, if he chose.

His stomach rumbled. _Or minutes, I could call them in minutes rather than hours,_ he thought.

Severus tried to remember how he'd got here, but nothing moved to the fore of his mind. Clearly, someone had not only cared enough to find and rescue him, but was invested enough to make sure he was kept alive and comfortable, likely at great expense.

Musing about the potential identity of his saviour – it would have to be Potter, Granger, or young Malfoy – Severus Snape's consciousness lapsed once more.

***

The low, muttered argument several hours later woke Sever us again.

"He is best cared for here, Mr Malfoy," a placating voice said.

A snort and sneering tone was, of course, an utterly proper response. "I fail to see, Healer Nomptey, how his care is best _here_ , in a ward best known for merely warehousing bodies St Mungo's Healers expect to die. If Severus Snape were to have _died_ ," the impatient tone of Draco Malfoy continued, "he well would have done so out on the battlefield, rather than clinging as stubbornly to life as he did to the principles of _Advanced Potions-Making_."

A dry, rasping, scratching chuckle erupted from deep in Severus' lungs. He heard two steps of footsteps approaching, one swift and confident, the other swift and nervous. He coughed, the first burst of air through his windpipe tickling his windpipe and diaphragm into further spasms.

"Severus?" Draco had leant down to speak into his ear. Severus could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Really, young man. Let me examine my patient." The Healer sounded annoyed, of all things. "He's coughing up blood!"

"So – would – you," Severus wheezed weakly, "had – Nagini – torn out – your throat."

"Severus!"

He could hear the Healer stumbling backward as warm arms hauled him up by his shoulders and wrapped around him. Opening his eyes warily, all Severus could see were strands of straw-coloured hair and dim blankness past them.

"Good to see you too," he coughed again, "Draco."

***

He was shocked that Draco had chosen to take him back to that godforsaken castle, especially since the Dark Lord seemed to have been defeated.

( _"Would you believe that he was dead, or at least the Dark Lord had thought he was dead, but that my own mother lied to him in order to get back to me at the castle?" Draco had said when Severus had asked him about the outcome. So apparently Potter had defeated the Dark Lord without dying yet again. Lucky fool._ )

"Aren't the Forces of Light well-displeased with me?" Severus had croaked at the suggestion. "Even Madam Pomfrey hated the sight of me by Yule, you realise."

"Pfft," Draco said, making sure that Severus was well-strapped to him with blankets. "Mum would have negotiated for your safety and freedom even if Potter hadn't spoken for you. Beside, everyone knows you were the secret to the Light's success. Even the former Death Eaters know, and they had all been seething with jealousy over your position of favour with the Dark Lord."

"But..." Severus protested.

Draco sighed. "I may have had Skeeter's ear for awhile, Severus, but that Granger twit must have some sort of blackmail on her," he said. "Basically anything _she_ says is printed verbatim."

 _That would explain a fair bit_.

Feeling Draco's clutch tighten, Severus braced himself.

"Hospital Wing, Hogwarts!"

***

 _"Draco, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Severus blustered as he shoved the young man away. Accosting the Headmaster in his office, of all things!_

 _Draco smirked, stirring something low in Severus' belly. Hell, in his_ cock _. "I think I'm kissing you," he said, leaning in once more. Heavens. Had the instruction in mouth-to-mouth given the boy_ ideas _?_

 _As lovely as the boy was, Severus felt himself shoving him away automatically. "What kind of an idiot are you?" he demanded. "You think I would respond to such a desperate gesture, when I know full well that what you want is less me than an experience you_ choose _?" For Draco had been the opposite of subtle this evening, grabbing Severus by the robes and shoving his tongue into his mouth without even the merest tease._

 _"Not desperate," Draco pouted, pulling back and sitting. He wrapped his arms around his knees. "That's how Blaise always liked it. And Pansy, and Greg."_

 _Trying not to gag at that last image, Severus sneered. "Merlin, preserve me from the indiscretions of hormonal adolescents," he grumbled, leaning back to examine the adolescent before him. "I am not an adolescent myself, Mr Malfoy," he said calmly, "and as such, I require a bit more..._ finesse _."_

 _Severus paused. It wasn't as though he found the boy unattractive._

 _"And I suppose that you chose your conquests with all those other students, did you?" Severus said. "Tell me, were they the few winners in a competition to seek your attention and favour, so you would put a good word forward to the Carrows, myself, or the Dark Lord? Can you imagine any of them telling you they didn't enjoy your clumsy ministrations?"_

 _He was cruel, he knew, but he also would not be another notch again on a Malfoy bedpost. No. If he were going to 'engage in sexual congress' with the scion of the Houses of Malfoy and Black, it would be on his own terms._

 _"I wanted them, Severus. But I also want you. You're right; we didn't much know what we were doing. It was fun – I mean, a hole is a hole, I suppose – but," Draco shivered, "none of them could make me hard just by speaking. Or by looking at me, though I suppose Blaise was trying."_

 _Severus nodded. "In that case," he said, "come here, and I shall instruct you."_

***

"Absolutely not, Severus." Poppy Pomfrey's voice was infuriatingly firm, though Severus had to admit he preferred it to the smarmy, saccharine tones of the Healers and Mediwizards at St Mungo's. "You will not return to Spinner's End — _nor_ to your old dungeon appointments — until you have either healed enough to properly care for yourself or have found a person to wait on you hand-and-foot. You are not capable, at the present moment, of making sound judgments, much less remembering and choosing to take all your potions and practise all your exercises."

 _I am going to_ flay _Draco for bringing me here._ "I suppose there is no possibility of finding a solution, then?" Severus growled.

"You might ask me whether I would help, Severus." Draco's voice floated from the doorjamb, cutting through Severus' self-pity. "After all, I've got nothing better to do whilst on probation."

Both relief and resentment coursed through Severus' being. _Nothing better to do whilst on probation? As if I'm a mere diversion for the boy?_ Aloud, he sniffed. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, Mr Malfoy."

Draco stalked to the bed. "I assure you, Mr Snape," he responded, "you will hardly be an _inconvenience_."

 _Seems I have rubbed off on the boy,_ Severus mused, then chastised himself for his prurient interpretation of that very thought.

"Well, Poppy?" Severus asked, restraining the whine that threatened to enter his voice. He was grateful to have mastered his tone lo those many years ago.

"Tomorrow," she said decisively, glaring at Draco.

Severus smiled at the prospect of leaving Poppy's watch. If he could not be truly free, at least he could control Draco almost as well as himself.

***

"I will _not_ ," Severus said, looking at his bed piled high with extra pillows and duvets and fuming.

"You will, Severus," Draco repeated. "Madame Pomfrey promised to look in daily to make sure I am taking proper care of you, and she insists that your head and torso be elevated to keep you, er, coughing up the mucous, blood, and fluid still trapped in your lungs."

"And you were required to find such...childish, feminine adornments for my bed?"

Draco frowned. He had requested his house-elf bring over the best of his own bed linens and accoutrements for Severus' use. _Bloody ingrate._

"No, Severus. It just happens that these are what Winky chose for you." He'd taken Winky to be his own house-elf after the Battle of Hogwarts, when it became clear that the only ones who could survive the rebuilding of Hogwarts were those house-elves who needed minimal attention or instruction from wizards.

Severus wavered on his feet.

"Oh, would you get in the damned bed, already?" Draco blurted in exasperation. "The last thing either of us needs is for you to injure yourself more and need further assistance from Pomfrey or Nomptey." He grabbed Severus' elbow, none-too-gently guiding him backward and onto the bed.

"I can't believe this," Severus was heard to grumble.

"Well, believe it," Draco said. "Now, I want to hear you practising your vocalisations while I go and order some soup for you."

Leaving Severus' room, Draco leant against the wall at the top of the stairs. _Bugger. What on earth was I thinking, offering to care for him?_

 _Especially since Severus seems to hate the sight of me?_

***

In the three weeks since Draco had brought Severus home, Spinner's End had been transformed into a somehow sparkling abode (Severus blamed Winky), Severus had got used to his regimen of potions, exercises, and relaxation, and Draco had become more and more sullen.

"I suppose you wouldn't be interested in discussing your potions with me, since I'm neither a Mediwizard nor a Potions Master?" Draco had said with futility when Severus complained of the effectiveness of what he called 'inferior and outsourced potions.' He shrugged and didn't even wait for a response. "I'll call Pomfrey, then."

Watching with befuddlement as Draco walked to the sitting room door, Severus finally asked, "Draco, what has got into you?"

"Nothing," Draco muttered, but turned. "I'll just use your Floo to call Pomfrey, and you can discuss your concerns with her." Unceremoniously, he threw some Floo Powder into the fire and stuck in his head. When he removed it, Poppy's was shining out.

"Good morning, Severus," she said, obviously watching Draco as he hastened out of the room.

"Poppy," he responded gruffly.

"I hear you don't trust the potions I've provided?" she said, tsking a bit. "I know there's nothing as good as your own concoctions, but they're the best we've got at the minute. Horace brewed them himself."

Severus snorted. "Even though he taught me, Poppy, he was never what one might call a superior Potions Master himself. He was always better at theory and teaching than at practical applications."

"Do you have any _particular_ concerns, Severus, or did young Draco summon me here just so you could gripe?"

"The Soothing Solution could use more menthol, raspberry root, and honey," he said.

Poppy rolled her eyes. " _Or_ you could ask Draco to brew you up some raspberry tea."

"We have a house-elf," Severus huffed.

"But of course, ask the _house-elf_ , Severus," she said, with a confusing level of disapproval. Sarcasm, even. "It's not as though the young man hasn't given up all the other possibilities in his life to supervise your recovery. It's not as though he hasn't given you the excellence of care I'm sure Narcissa gave _him_ when he was a child. No, go ask the _house-elf_ to bring you what you really need, and let the boy stew in his alienation some more."

"Poppy!" Severus gasped.

"For pity's sake, Severus. The boy is utterly infatuated with you. If you aren't going to oblige him, you might as well come back to the Hospital Wing. At least I get compensated for putting up with your poor attitude!"

She closed the Floo.

Severus fell back on his pillows; Draco, Winky, and Poppy had all insisted that pillows accompany him to the sofa from the bed. _Infatuated? Is that why Draco brought me home? Because he is infatuated?_

He needed to consider this. He would do it whilst practising his vocal exercises.

" _Give me the gift of a grip-top sock, a clip drape shipshape tip top sock. Not your spinslick slapstick slipshod stock…_ "

By the time he'd finished the last iteration of " _a minute or two to two today, at a minute or two to two_ , " Severus was ready both for his tea and for the discussion. Smiling, he sent his Patronus to Draco.

Oddly, it was a ferret.

***

The tea was lovely; Draco had been surprised both that Severus had asked _him_ to prepare it and that he'd been invited to partake of it as well. Raspberry tea with mint and lemon; it wasn't Draco's usual fare, but he had to admit it was soothing of both voice and nerve.

"Thank you, Draco," Severus said, looking moderately uncomfortable at his own statement.

"Oh, you're certainly welcome," Draco returned. He wondered how long their stilted conversation over tea would drag on.

"I, ah, was reminded by Madam Pomfrey of how much you've… _sacrificed_ to assist me." Severus took a breath deeper than Draco had seen him manage since before the Final Battle.

He took his own deep breath. "You seem to be recovering well, sir," he said.

"I must say that upon consideration, it seems an odd choice for you, playing nursemaid to a used-up old man."

Draco gave a small smile. "You're hardly used-up, sir," he said, peeking at Severus. "Recovering your strength, yes, but not because it had been used up – it's what you have been using to stay alive, even as you've been trying to store it up for later use. I reckon you're, well, creating more strength than the average wizard could imagine."

"Do you, now?" Severus snorted.

"You've got your humour back too, now," Draco added. "That definitely shows recovery."

"Hmph. I never lost it, mind."

 _Blast._ "Oh , no, sir. Of _course_ you didn't." _Especially not when you were berating me for all the things the Healers had done wrong,_ he thought.

Draco's sarcasm had never taken leave of him, either.

"Well, I suppose you'll be relieved when I am finally able to take more steps than those from the bedroom to the sitting room," Severus said. "You'll finally be able to go off and find your own way among the living."

The pit in Draco's stomach grew; he likewise felt a ball of grief growing in his throat. Swallowing, he managed to say, "I'll be relieved that you can go back to feeling more like yourself. I'm not sure there is much of a better way for me to find, though." He turned his head, his eyes burning. He opened them wider to let them dry; he would _not_ cry in front of a man who saw him merely as a nursemaid.

"Draco."

Reflexively, Draco's head snapped toward his name. "Dirty trick, Severus," he said. "Er, sir."

"Severus will do, Draco. I'm hardly your master here, am I? Weak as I am?"

Draco shook his head, though frankly he couldn't say what sort of relationship he and Severus Snape had at this point.

"Gratitude has never been a strong suit for either of us, has it?" Severus said softly. "And yet, I imagine we've each had to express it to the other at some point in the past year or two." He watched Draco nod. "I truly am thankful, Draco, that you decided to come find me, and that you offered to bring me out of the hospital, and then out of the infirmary. It is far more comfortable for me to be in my own home, and to be with someone," he swallowed, and lowered his voice even more, "who can see me as more than a patient."

Severus looked up from his tea, which had seemed utterly _fascinating_ to him during his speech. He caught Draco's attention.

Draco's eyes were bright, his lips trembling. "Anyone who has ever paid attention to you, Severus," he said, "would _have_ to see you as more than a patient. Hell, I reckon that's why Pomfrey let me take you home." He moved from his armchair to the settee and took Severus' hands in his own. "And you are, of course, welcome, but it's hardly a sacrifice."

Feeling daring, he both lifted Severus' hands and bent his own head. He brushed his moistened lips against Severus' knuckles. He heard a hitch in Severus' breath which matched Draco's own.

"You're mad," he heard Severus mutter.

"Why?"

One of Severus' hands squirmed out of Draco's to catch the other man's chin, turning Draco's head so that they were eye to eye. "You could be investing yourself in so many other things right now, so many other _people_ , and yet you choose to squander your time and energy on someone who demonstrates inadequate appreciation." Severus paused, seeming to ponder for a moment. "None of this is to your advantage, Draco. Why do you stay here?"

 _The rasp is even sexier than the velvet tones he used to have!_ Draco thought desperately. He bit his lip. He hadn't confessed any of his... _feelings_...before. Snape, a man not given to romantic blather, would surely dismiss Draco's sentiment as so much drivel. "Sometimes a person wants to protect another because they care, not because a Vow or a bond requires them to do so. Maybe I think your safety and pleasure are worthy ends in themselves. Maybe I think it's to my advantage to spend as much time as I can with the most fascinating, intelligent, sexy man I've met!"

Severus was silent. _Grand,_ thought Draco. _I'm glad that at least I_ know _my thoughts are insipid. Well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon._ "Maybe I'm still here because I bloody _love_ you, did you ever think of that?"

Draco's breath felt hot and thick in his chest. He felt his blood burn beneath his skin. The buzzing in his ears made it hard for him to focus, even harder for him to piece a thought together. He could barely hear, much less comprehend, the next words from Severus' mouth.

A cleansing breath brought enough oxygen to Draco's brain that he could register the look of shock in Severus' eyes, as well as the word 'preposterous' as it fell from the other man's lips.

Draco caught the word as it dropped, letting it sit on his own lips before pressing it back to Severus' and letting the "pre-pah" explode back onto Severus' mouth, the syllables themselves forcing kisses between them. Taking Severus' cheek in his hand, Draco gently repeated the gesture the sounds had made, finally following the soft movements of his lips with a tender touch of his tongue to Severus' barely-closed mouth. He did not demand entrance; rather, he gifted Severus with the lightest brush of sweet devotion.

When Draco drew back, Severus stared, his eyes guarded. "Draco," he murmured. "I don't know –"

Another kiss, this one both impulsive and insistent, cut him off.

"Let me, please," Draco breathed. "I know what I'm doing."

***

 _He most certainly does_ not _know what he's doing,_ Severus thought as Draco's lips touched his once more. _The boy does not know how tenuous my control is._ At least Severus hoped Draco didn't; being known to be as borderline-wanton as he felt was not an acceptable circumstance.

Severus would continue thinking in big words until he'd regained mastery of himself, of this _situation_. For the lack of control he currently felt over his emotions, his body, his very _soul_ (damaged as it was) absolutely terrified him.

 _To care as much as young Draco does is to be weak. You must not surrender yourself to anyone, no matter how much he says he_ cares _. Naive pillock._

Severus would not allow himself to consider which of them the pillock in question was.

Draco was continuing his rapidly devolving attack on Severus' lips, his attempt at some semblance of suave seduction giving way to adolescently eager thrusts of the hips.

"Enough," Severus said, nearly wincing at the sound of his voice; what he'd intended to be a growl had emerged as a hiss.

The boy, of course, wasn't bothered; he gave another involuntary little jut of the groin as he straightened his arms to look Severus in the eyes once more.

Draco's expression hid nothing, and Severus shuddered to think what sort of horrors the boy would have encountered had he not been under Severus' protection this past year. Surely, such inability to dissemble would have landed the boy in ever greater trouble with the Dark Lord and his followers.

Now, he was gazing at Severus with unmitigated desire, fervour, and anxiety.

The combination was strangely intoxicating, Severus had to admit. He forced all his energy into his muscles, surging forward to grab Draco's shoulders and shove him onto his back.

"Look at me..." he hissed, those words that should have marked his death now marking his determination to live, to teach, to _have_ again.

***

 _The first time Draco kissed Severus for real, it was in the cold, dewy grass of Malfoy Manor, and Draco was trembling with adrenaline left over from another near-brush with Greyback._

 _"You stupid,_ stupid _boy," Severus said, slapping him across the face, causing the hysterical tears to stop in surprise._

 _Severus always did know how best to take care of him._

 _Draco continued to sob, clutching Severus' robes in desperation. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." he repeated, chanting his regret, his fear, his_ need _. He didn't think he could live — neither physically nor in any other way — if Severus were to stop trying to find him. "I'm sorry..."_

 _Severus had pushed him down, chuckling as Draco used his crotch as a substitute for the comforting shoulder now out of reach, and said, "_ Draco. _"_

 _Eyes wide and wet, Draco looked at the face of the man who had saved him now three times in three months. "You found me, sir."_

 _"_ Cruor meus ducebit suo cruo; cruor noster in terra morit _," Severus responded lowly. "I will always find you." His hand stretched, inviting Draco to take it._

 _The grip was so comforting, Draco let his free arm wrap around Severus' shoulders and, impulsively, brought their lips together. Severus' response was swift and passionate: his free hand twined so tightly into Draco's hair that it hurt. Draco had no option to withdraw from this kiss._

 _"I will_ always _find you, Draco," Severus said. "And I will always teach you what you need to know."_

***

Draco knew he could not penetrate the man who held him (his body? his heart?) captive. Yet, here Severus was, inviting him to enter his mind. Those eyes which had always been the most closed of his closed expression were open for the first time in Draco's memory.

As he felt Severus slump atop him, Draco looked deep into his lover's eyes.

 _I will always find you, Draco. I will always teach you what you need to know._

 _You are mine._

 _You are mine._

"And you," Draco whispered, hardly daring to respond, "are mine, too."

 **THE END**


End file.
